Wicked Through and Through
by DFTDG
Summary: "The question was this: who was to blame?" Nessa's thoughts before her death. Because why not have my first Wicked fan fic involve Nessa angst? Some Bessa.


**My first fan fic for Wicked... very exciting! Please review!**

**Disclaimer: Wicked... yeah, I don't own it.**

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Wicked Through and Through

"It was Elphaba, Boq. It was Elphabaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Nessa stood there, overwhelmed with despair, watching her beloved Boq leave for the last time. That voice echoing throughout the empty halls was unrecognizeable to her. It could not be her. It was someone else. Someone so desperately in love, she scapegoated her own sister-someone who had done so much for her-when she already had enough to deal with as it was. No. It could not have been her. Not innocent, naive, tragically beautiful Nessarose Thropp, unelected governess of Munchkinland.

She paced across the room on her newly healed legs. Confined to a wheelchair her whole life, this was what she had always longed for, this had been her dream for as long as she could remember. Now she had it, and she could hardly be more despaired. Boq was gone. Her father was gone. Her sister was gone. There was nothing left. Just the girl in the mirror. The wicked witch of the east. After all, they deserved each other.

Independence. It was something Nessa had always craved. Her whole life, she always needed someone to do everything for her. Pity. That's all she ever got from people: pity. _Oh, poor little Nessa. How tragic. _Friendship? She didn't know the meaning of the word. Unconditional love? Something she thought she knew, but never did, and never would. But now-now, she could rely on herself. Now, people had no reason to pity her. She was alone, and she would be just fine.

No. That's not right. She would never be just fine on her own.

Yes, Nessa had what she wanted. Her legs worked, she did not rely on anyone else's help. People did not need to pity her anymore. So they didn't. So they just abandoned her. Left her there flat. Now she needed pity, needed help. Yet, there was none to be had. When she didn't want it, it was there. When she needed and craved it, it was gone.

The question was this: who was to blame?

Her mother died giving birth to her. Had she lived, would things have been different? Of course they would. Most likely, Nessa would not be disabled. Elphaba would not have had to do everything for her. She could have been more self-reliant and received less pity from everyone else.

Her father had also died, leaving behind the role of Governor of Munchkinland. Of course, she knew the time would come when she would have to take over, but why did it have to happen so soon? And why would this responsibility go to her, when Elphaba clearly could have handled it better?

Speaking of whom, what about Elphaba? She had left her just as everything began to fall apart. She had been best friends with the girl who Boq had really loved. She _betrayed_ her, in every possible way.

And Boq? Boq had never loved Nessa. He only stayed out of pity. Like everyone else in her life. Boq had been no different from anyone else. She should have known all along. Deep down, maybe she did. The fact was, it was something she did not want to believe. Yet, true, nonetheless.

Outside, the wind was howling. A storm was beginning. A big storm, too, even if bizzare and unexpected. Nessa stared out of the window. She thought of Elphaba, out in the storm alone, then of Boq, now made of tin. Would he rust? Would Elphaba melt, as all of the other Ozians thought she would when her skin made contact with water? At this thought, Nessa envied Elphaba. She wished she could melt, or maybe get struck by lightning. Maybe her house would be picked up by the wind and carried away to another far away land. _Don't be ridiculous, _she told herself. _Such a thing could never happen._

After pondering this, she returned to the question of who was to blame. Well, her mother had not chosen to die. Come to think of it, neither did her father. And Elphaba had done everything she possibly could for Nessa. As for Boq? Boq had cared for Nessa, even if it had only been out of pity, he had tried to help. No, none of them could be blamed.

Then who was at fault?

A flash of lightening lit up the darkened sky. In that moment, it became clear to Nessa, as if the burst of electricity had been the light she needed to see the truth clearly.

There was only one person left to blame: herself.

After all, Boq would not have been forced to stay if not for her law. Elphaba had tried to help, but Nessa was never appreciative. It was Nessa's fault Boq had lost his heart, and her fault that Elphaba was forced into turning him into a man made of tin. She was-and always would be-a wicked witch.

Someting outside caught her eye and made her do a double take. She walked over to the window. It didn't make any sense. It was a house, but it was... flying? Nessa opened the door just a crack, but a monstrous gust of wind blew it open all the way. Tentatively, she stepped outside. Indeed, what she had seen was a house, and it appeared to be coming her way. Her first instinct was to run back inside, but a sudden realization made her stop herself. Why bother? Wouldn't everyone be better off if she was dead? The munchkins hated her-and with good reason; she had restricted their already limited rights to the brink. Boq, Elphaba-neither would care if she died, would they?

The house was descending as the wind let up. Nessa wanted to scream, but forbid herself. The last thing she wanted was someone to rescue her. Not like anyone would. No, she was going to die, and not a soul would mourn her. She closed her eyes and waited, with no desire to save herself. The house hovered for a moment, pausing, considering. Waiting, as if giving Nessa a chance to change her mind. She didn't.

_Crash._

Then, silence.

...

_No one mourns the wicked._

_No one cries, "They won't return."_

_No one lays a lily on their grave..._

The tin man made his way to the gravesite, a rose in one hand, and his oil can in the other. His walking was clumbsy and awkward; he was still getting used to his tin-clad exterior. When he got to the gravestone, inscribed with the words "wicked witch of the east", he knelt down and placed the rose on her grave. How horrible, he thought, that they would not even put her real name on there. Like they had forgotten. Like she never had another identity. Now, she would be forever etched in history as a wicked witch, not Nessarose Thropp, the girl he had gone to that dance with back at Shiz University.

A tear in his eye, hoping by some miracle, Nessa could hear him, he whispered, "Goodbye, my beautiful, sweet, Nessa. I love you."

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**Thank you for reading! Reviews are loved.**


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